


Dissonance

by codenamecynic



Series: The Swordmaster's Son [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 22:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21309823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codenamecynic/pseuds/codenamecynic
Summary: "As beautiful as Taliesin is, he’s also horribly broken. Cort has always seen the fissures that spread just beneath his skin even though they’re not any more real than the way he smiles at people who don’t know better, pretending. Taliesin is very good at pretending but not, he thinks, as good as Cort is."Cort and Taliesin have a moment after a fight with one of Taliesin's brothers. Takes place around year 14 of 'The Swordmaster's Son'.
Relationships: Taliesin Harper | Taliesin Ferryman/Cort Raghnall
Series: The Swordmaster's Son [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1508468
Kudos: 2
Collections: Alternative Ethics





	Dissonance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fionavar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fionavar/gifts), [vhaerauning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vhaerauning/gifts), [Dakoyone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dakoyone/gifts), [bettydice (BettyKnight)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettyKnight/gifts).

> Exploring things from Cort's POV at the behest of our beloved DM. If you're following [The Swordmaster's Son,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688893/chapters/36454428) this story is set in year 14.

He’s not a particularly gentle person. He’s always known that about himself, ever since he was small, long before he started to grow into a body that promised to be tall and broad and strong, shades of his father and grandfather before him. He struggles not to break things, sometimes; to handle things quietly, if not softly. It’s never something that comes naturally to him.

But then, Cort thinks, that’s not why they pay him. 

It’s hard to feel truly bitter about being good at what he was bred for, but there are moments when-

Well. When it feels more complicated than it should.

Taliesin stands shirtless in his room in front of the plain white washbasin in the corner, swishing blood out of his mouth with water. Cort can see half of his reflection in the mirror, watches openly because he knows Taliesin won’t look up. He never does.

And that’s good, partially, but it’s also not, because as beautiful as Taliesin is, he’s also horribly broken. Cort has always seen the fissures that spread just beneath his skin even though they’re not any more real than the way he smiles at people who don’t know better, pretending. Taliesin is very good at pretending but not, he thinks, as good as Cort is.

He puts that aside, neatly packaged, like he always does. Taliesin is beautiful but he’s also bruised and bloodied, dark marks across his ribs, his back, his chest, handprints on his arms. Some of them are new, still blooming red, but not all; there are always old wounds, replaced before they fully fade.

_He hates that he-_

Across the room Taliesin sighs and Cort shifts, unfolding his arms from across his chest to pick up a towel. He’s no medic, but he keeps a stack of bandages in his room now for when Taliesin can’t be persuaded to the healer; they won’t need them today. Just a small dust up with Tamsin in the yard, and Tamsin never does quite as much damage as Gordri can. Not, at least, in ways that leave evidence behind.

The thought makes something in him shift with discomfort and he turns his mind from it, gesturing patiently for Taliesin to sit down. He does, slowly, and Cort moves slowly too, lifting Taliesin’s chin to press the cloth to his face to dry it before he can drip runny blood and water into Cort’s sheets. Not that it would be the first time.

_He hates this, he hates- _

Taliesin smiles at him, half a grimace, when Cort staunches blood welling from a thin scratch across his cheek, steady pressure despite the flinching. Taliesin lets him do it though, like he always does. Taliesin fights everybody else, but he never fights Cort. Not like that. Not once in his whole life.

He isn’t sure how that makes him feel, that twist of _something _in his stomach, low and tight and uncomfortable. Over anything else and he would talk to Taliesin about it, but he can’t just talk to Taliesin about _Taliesin_. That usually doesn’t go over well; more than anything he doesn’t want to see those gray eyes dark with an apology that isn’t warranted but surrendered so easily anyhow.

“What’s wrong?”

Cort blinks. Taliesin is watching him carefully, eyes on his face. Not thoughtful, not exactly. Intuitive. He always seems to _know-_

“Your brother punched you in the face repeatedly. What could possibly be wrong.”

Somehow Taliesin laughs at that and reaches up to take Cort’s arm, tries to pull his hand away. Stubbornly, Cort doesn’t move. Taliesin relents, his long, cool fingers braceleted around Cort’s wrist.

“Bound to happen eventually, it’s been a slow week.”

That is- 

“Why do you _do _this?” He doesn’t mean to snap but the words come out with too much force. He sounds angry and he - he _is _angry, he supposes. He should be, he’s just not sure yet at what or whom.

Not that it matters. Taliesin’s expression shutters, his grip loosening and falling away. “Do what.”

This little idiot. “Make yourself a target. It’s like you _want _them to-”

“It doesn’t make a difference.” Taliesin’s voice is flat, smooth, no trace of the wild current underneath. “Why make it easy? At least this way I deserve it.” He’s smiling again but it’s a sickly thing, twisted up and bitter - an expression ill-suited with how young he looks in this moment, damp and beaten and in Cort’s hands. He _is _young, perilously so; sometimes Cort forgets.

“Anyway...” Taliesin starts, and it makes Cort’s heart stutter in his chest, the single word undercut with so much hurt. “Thanks for the rescue, as usual. I really should-”

“Sit down.” Taliesin looks up at him and Cort sighs, closes his eyes and counts to ten. “Please. Sit.”

Taliesin does, sinking back down onto the mattress. He looks chastised though Cort doesn’t know why; something he’s said, surely, but he isn’t sure which part.

It was stupid, either way. Thoughtless. He can see the rigid way Taliesin’s shoulders have set, the guarded blankness of his features. It’s a familiar thing, that look; that it’s being used now, with him-

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually, when he can be sure his voice will come out evenly, quiet and sincere. Taliesin looks up at him like a discarded pup, forlorn, and the expressionlessness was almost easier to take, it-

No. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have made it sound like it was.”

For a moment he’s afraid that Taliesin will cry, dissolve into the kind of weeping that Cort is always desperate to comfort though he never really knows how, his gaze sliding to the side to focus on some unknowable point. He doesn’t though, just eventually lets his guard drop, shoulders slumping like he’s weary to the bone. He probably is.

He smiles anyway though, not happy exactly, but at least with a spark of humor that makes Cort feel less hopeless in the moment. “Want to go to Miss Molly’s tonight? The ladies love a good fight story.”

The last thing he wants to do is visit a whorehouse where he’s not going to fuck anybody (he could, he _could_, but he won’t, he already knows) even with his best friend, but Taliesin needs what Taliesin needs, and at least sex is a reasonable interest for someone his age, and unlikely to injure him further. Probably.

“Think you can even get it up in the state you’re in?”

“Please,” Taliesin scoffs, smile suddenly blinding when directed at him with its full force, eyes again on his. “I can _always _get it up.”

Cort just shakes his head.


End file.
